


X Time

by Sealie



Series: 'Uhane [3]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sealie/pseuds/Sealie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sentinel fusion, and continuation of 'The First Thirty Minutes' and 'Hourglass Time'</p>
            </blockquote>





	X Time

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: Slash; PG; h/c  
> Word count: ~ 12,200  
> Warning: none  
> Advisory: potty mouth; WIP of sorts  
> Comments:  
> 1) British English spelling  
> 2) Sentinel fusion, and continuation of The First Thirty Minutes -- And Hourglass Time.  
> Spoilers: none  
> Beta: Springwoof and saphirablue *blows kisses*

**X Time.**  
By Sealie 

“Hey, brah,” Chin said. “Steve feeling any better?”

Danny stepped away from the computer table -- shutting the damn thing down would be too obvious -- and smiled.

“I left him sleeping like a grizzly bear with a sore head. You’d think that he was the sentinel. The slightest noise disturbs him. I thought that I’d come in check and the daily reports and then I’d be able to reassure him that nothing was going down.” 

“It was a quiet night by all accounts.” Chin moved past Danny to the table, ensnared by the siren call of data streaming over his favourite toy. 

“Well, it was a week night.” Danny stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“Still.” Chin stroked the excel chart that Danny had compiled. “That’s a pattern for the Twenty Fifth of December without the domestic violence incidences. Pity we couldn’t bottle days like that.”

“Pity,” Danny echoed darkly. “I’ll be in my office getting through the reams of paperwork that an average day generates.” 

“You and me both,” Chin said with a sigh. 

“Go on.” Danny pointed imperiously at Chin’s office, hamming it up. “Nose to the grindstone. Give me a shout if you need anything.” 

“I’ll probably just use Window’s Communicator,” Chin said, as he headed off to his office. 

“Well, if you don’t want me to respond,” Danny said jovially, as he retreated rapidly to his own office. 

Inside, Danny dropped into his chair as if from a great height. “Shit.” 

The police reports had presented an unprecedented pattern of a quiet, peaceful night in the eastern suburbs of Honolulu where they lived. No traffic violations, no domestic batteries or calls of B&Es for the entire span of time between 18:30 and 19:30, and the rest of the night had been quiet. 

Steve’s calming effect had cushioned and promulgated throughout their entire neighbourhood. 

No wonder he was exhausted. 

Through the open blinds, he saw Chin drift back to the computer table. 

Danny got out there in two seconds flat. 

“Hey, Chin, did you hear?”

“Hear what?” Chin asked agreeably. 

Danny managed an embarrassed gesticulation -- a paused half jab of a hand, like a wounded bird. 

Chin raised an eyebrow. 

“George is mine,” Danny blurted. 

Chin blinked, processed, and finally said, “Congratulations. How’s Steve handling that?”

“Pretty well,” Danny began and stopped, wondering on that track. “Hey, Steve really has some sort of twenty four hour… forty eight hour kind of thing. He’s not raced off into the mountains to sulk. It was before I moved in,” he finished lamely, feeling the heated flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. 

“I’m happy for you, Brah,” Chin said as only Chin could, intent and serious, and a little chastising. 

“George is a sentinel,” Danny added. 

“Wow,” that actually managed to get a reaction from behind Chin’s studied mien of impenetrability. “That’s great.” 

Danny did a little bobbing weave of a preen. 

“My parents are flying out this weekend to meet him.” Danny mimed a plane in the air coming to land on the computer table. His parents had been ecstatic and easy to cajole into visiting their new sentinel grandson. His Mom was semi-retired and had promptly got clearance from Sentinel Central to travel, booked some time off and rearranged a few meetings so that she and her husband could have a week and a half in Hawaii. Danny pressed his palm on the table screen and a traffic report resolved into position over the spreadsheet he’d created.

“Your Mom is a sentinel, yes?”

“Yep. Five senses. Dad’s her guide.” Danny hefted a hip onto the table, crossing his arms. “Steve and I were figuring a BBQ on the beach once they’ve got over their jetlag. Are you and Malia doing anything this weekend?” 

“I don’t think so.” Chin looked up to the right, trying to recall. “I’ll check with Malia. There will be something happening on Sunday, probably. But we can work around you guys.” 

Danny pointed his prickly chin at Chin’s office. “Go tell her -- so she doesn’t arrange anything in the meantime.” 

Danny waited until he had retreated into his office before turning back to the spreadsheets. He printed off the rows and columns of numbers he had compiled, and the simple pie charts, before shutting the programme down without saving. There should be no record of his investigation. Steve would need graphic evidence of the results of his little episode. 

But fuck. 

An entire suburb … calmed. 

~*~

The thing about Steve was that he didn’t do relaxation very well. You could entice him into a movie and a beer, but lazing on the sofa reading a novel didn’t appeal to him. His reading choices leaned towards biographies and text books, but he’d only dip into a chapter every now and again. Unless it related to work and then he would devour the book in one sitting. He was more liable to relax by playing -- working -- in the garage with the car or repairing something that had broken, in his own inimitable way. You could always tell a Steve-repair; they were functional, but not that pretty. 

The upshot was that Steve and being under the weather didn’t go together very well. 

“Babe?” Danny ventured into the dinning room in the search of his true guide. He knew that Steve was in this direction, being a Sentinel and all. He passed through the house always knowing where he was going. Unsurprisingly, the ocean had called Steve. Danny viewed the ebb and flow of Steve’s Whale Road darkly. 

Steve sat at the tide line, arms hooked around his knees, waves dabbling at his toes, looking out towards the horizon and the setting sun. 

Danny was sorely tempted to dig out Grace’s old toddler leash to prevent Steve heading out into the blue. He was dressed in his habitual polo shirt but wearing cargo shorts instead of trousers. To the uninformed, the clothes might mean that Steve wasn’t a hairsbreadth from throwing himself into the water, but that was a massively erroneous assumption. 

“Hey, Babe.” Danny was not going to sit on the sand. He focussed on the draw and exhale of Steve’s even breath rather than the vast ocean. Steve’s lungs were clear despite the night’s shenanigans. 

Steve glanced down to the right, looking fixedly at Danny’s polished leather loafers. 

“How are you feeling?” Danny asked. 

“Fine,” Steve said typically. 

“Got something to tell you. You want to come up on the lanai?” Danny part-asked, part-ordered. 

“Sure.” Steve finally craned his neck and stared fixedly at Danny’s expression. He immediately stood. “What?”

Danny held his hand out, and Steve automatically entwined their fingers. Steve’s giant hands were solid and they earthed him like a lightning conductor. Each and every ridge and cleft over his fingertips were starkly apparent to Danny. The uneven terrain brushing and catching against his own fingertips were electric. Danny sighed.

“Remember when Mrs. Malone had the whole settlement on Guide Island cowed?” Danny said. 

Steve nodded at him, bottom lip downturned. 

Danny pulled out the scrunched paper that he had printed out. Steve accepted it one handed. He studied the material, rather than immediately asking about the contents. 

“Zero incidence report in our suburb?” he summarised eventually. “Me?”

Danny shrugged. 

“Max would say that one incidence isn’t enough evidence.” Steve flipped the page over and scanned the columns of numbers relating to crime in and around their suburb for the entire evening. “But it does let you figure out a hypothesis.” 

“Maybe that was why you were… are… so exhausted.” Danny swallowed hard. “You don’t have any control, Babe. You don’t have a clue about this projecting empathy stuff. And….” 

“And?” 

“I dunno.”

“That’s helpful,” Steve said ironically. 

“Steve!” Danny flicked his fingers free of Steve’s hand and their comfort. “We’re fucked. Everything we’ve tried to find out about guides is focussed on sentinels: how sentinels are supported by guides; how sentinels’ senses centre on guides; how guides balance sentinels. But there’s nothing about the how guides do this apart from talking.”

“And that is a deliberate oversight,” it wasn’t even a question on Steve’s part. He had railed against the lack of information available. 

“What I’m surprised at is that no one has mentioned it,” Danny groused, kicking at the sand. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sentinel Central controls the flow of information, carries out research, talks to the press and has access to the sentinels. Sentinels are the protectors of society, the good guys. Guides are just around to help -- it’s an adroit misdirection.” He lapsed into thought. 

“Let’s take this inside, Babe.” Water lapped for his toes and Danny jumped back away from the foam. Stupid, horrible sea. 

“You’re part of a sentinel family. You’ve been brought up with sentinels and guides. Why didn’t you know this?” Steve demanded. 

Danny shrugged his shoulders up by his ears. “Just is,” he said, a tad resentfully. And it was: Dad was Dad; Mom was Mom, and he had attended a sentinel training academy when he had been identified, learning to control his senses until a guide was assigned to him. 

“And the guides are secluded on islands or retreats in the middle of nowhere. Interesting.” Steve’s nostrils flared. “We need to talk to your Dad. But do you trust him?”

“He’s my Dad,” Danny said indignantly. “The man that brought me up. The Dad that helped me with my senses. The Dad that hugged me. The Dad that taught me to love.” 

Steve held his hands up. “So I trust him. I was just asking.” 

Danny batted Steve’s tattooed shoulder. “And so you should! Okay, my parents are coming out this weekend. You’re off work until we talk to them.” 

“What?” Steve started back. 

“We don’t actually know what we’re dealing with. You’re not going out in the field. You’re benched, Commander McGarrett,” Danny said with finality. 

“I--”

“Uh. Nah. Nah.” Danny shook his finger directly under Steve’s nose -- even if he knew that was a red flag to the bull. “As your sentinel, I’m stating that we’re having a creepy, unknown guide abilities vacation.”

“You’re so dictatorial,” Steve observed flatly, crossing his arms. 

“That’s the pot calling the kettle. Steve!” Danny clasped Steve’s biceps in his own two hands and shook him. “Unknown. We don’t know what to do. Do you want to go out there and project all over the place?” 

“I can’t hide here!” 

“And why not?” Danny returned just as fast. “You’ve got enough sick days. I told Chin and Kono you had a twenty four hour thing. I might have obfuscated a little, but you have to recover. It’s allowed, Babe.” 

“But?” 

“No.” Danny slid his hands up Steve’s shoulders, moving to cup his face. He drew his thumbs as gently as only a sentinel could along the zygomatic ridges under his eyes. “I can see and feel this drawn skin. That means you’re beyond tired.” 

“I’m not,” Steve said sullenly, caving under Danny’s gentle stroking. 

“You’ll bounce back, Babe. Most people wouldn’t think that two days lazing around the house was a fate worse than death.”

“I just get bored.” 

Danny was unsympathetic. Steve wasn’t an idiot, he just liked to rail against sensible restrictions. If he didn’t agree he would already be down at the Palace hunting futilely for more information on guides using Chin’s secure, rotating proxy rooting servers to slip under the internet radar. 

“Come on, Babe, let’s see if I can get you to take a nap.” Danny turned on his heel, and traipsed back up to the house, knowing that Steve would follow. 

~*~

Danny glugged down the final dregs of his homemade version of Gatorade as he pulled up outside Stan and Rachel’s front door. He tossed the ceramic sports bottle on the empty passenger seat. He was pretty tired but he had to check on Grace and George -- for entirely different reasons, but one no more important than the other. 

The light evening wind tugged at his damp hair as he trotted up to the porch. Rachel was waiting for him on the steps, perfectly poised, spiky armour up and ready for battle. 

“Daniel.” 

The full name thing from Rachel always got his goat. But Danny was in the winning position here, and Rachel knew it. One call to Sentinel Central and George would be in his custody. He could afford to be magnanimous. It wasn’t as if he was going to call Sentinel Central and draw attention to his extended family, but Rachel didn’t know that. 

“Good evening, Rachel.” Hands in his pockets, Danny rocked back on his heels. 

“I suppose that you want to come in and check the house.” Rachel said, not moving an inch. 

“Yes, and also to see my daughter and son. And I need to talk to Grace.” 

“Why?” Rachel consulted her watch. It was late, but it had been a long day even if it had started at midday. 

“Because I’m pretty sure that George’s croup is probably because of Mr. Hoppy.”

“No.” Rachel’s face crumpled. “She’ll be devastated.”

“And I, the evil sentinel, will tell her and take Mr. Hoppy away.” 

Rachel sighed deeply. “I suppose you’d better come in.” 

~*~

Steve was not going to check the living room window again. He knew the manic insanity of Honolulu International Airport; flights might be on time, but getting off the concourse, through baggage, to arrivals could take an age. And then there was the fun of driving through Honolulu to 404 Piikoi Street. 

He’d cleaned thoroughly earlier in the week, so cleaning again took a tenth of the time it normally took. Generally, however, with a sentinel in his household, cleanliness was next to godliness and -- coupled with Navy training -- it meant that his house was always clean. Despite Danny being a complete and utter, untidy slob. 

He was sure that his in-laws were going to be comfortable in their home. Steve scrubbed at his face and returned to straightening cushions on the sofa. 

In-laws. He had in-laws. 

The distinctive thrum of the Camaro’s engine heralded the impending arrival of the Williams family. Steve had a lot of expectations and he guessed that everything that he had imagined was not going to be one hundred percent accurate. 

He yanked open the door and leaped down the steps, screeching to a halt as the car pulled up. 

“Aloha! Welcome to Hawaii.” He stood up straight, shoulders back, arms down by his sides. 

“Babe,” Danny said fondly as he popped out of the car, and looked over the silver roof. 

Steve shot him a glance, wondering at that expression; he normally only bestowed that one on Grace. The passenger door on Steve’s side opened. 

“Allow me to introduce my Mom and Dad, Rona and Benedict Williams.” 

A late-middle aged lady slid out of the front passenger seat. Clearly, Danny took after his Mom. If she topped five foot, she only topped it by an inch. Her strawberry blond bob matched Danny’s top colour perfectly. Bright eyed and fire-cracker strong, Steve felt her eternal nous of sharp and spiky and dedicated enfold him. Steve couldn’t help smiling at her; she was Danny in a slightly different package. 

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Williams.” 

She leaned forwards, fine nostrils flaring a hairsbreadth. “It’s nice to put a face to the name. Danny talks about you a lot.” 

“So Grace says,” Steve acknowledged. He eagerly waited for Mr. Williams senior to appear. 

“Hello, Steve.” Mr. Williams grinned at him over the roof of the silver car, eerily matching Danny in action and stance. He cocked his head to the side and nodded knowingly, with an air of _ah, now it makes sense._

“Sir.” Steve couldn’t help grinning goofily back at him. Benedict Williams was also short, perhaps an inch shorter than Danny, and Danny’s trademark blue eyes sparkled in his face. Danny had learned his quiffy hairstyling tips from his father. If Mrs. Williams was dynamic and spiky, Mr. Williams was comforting and simply so genuinely nice that Steve wanted to shepherd him into the house and protect him from the rest of the world -- preferably armed and ready with a bazooka and a flame thrower.

“Hey, no bonding. He’s my Dad.” Danny slapped the roof of his car loudly. “My Dad, no one else’s.” 

“Daniel,” Mrs. Williams said. “You have two sisters and… a baby brother -- believe me -- I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again: you have to share your Dad.” 

“My Dad,” Danny said, mock-sullenly, but with a soupçon of _Seriously, hands off -- my Dad_. Mr. Williams patted his son’s arm. Danny automatically slung his arm around his Dad’s shoulder and pulled him in. 

“I’d say that it was because Daniel is a sentinel and Dad’s a guide, but honestly he’s always been possessive.” Mrs. Williams shook her head at her son and husband. “Oldest boy in the family, never liked sharing. I shouldn’t have breast fed him.” 

“Mom!”

Steve laughed, charmed. He clapped his hands. “You have had a long trip. The guest room is set up for you if want to have a nap. We’ve no plans for this evening. Danny thought in a couple of days you might like to meet our friends. We were planning a BBQ.”

“Grace and George?” Mr. Williams piped up. 

Mrs. Williams nodded definitely. 

“I talked to Rachel and I can pick them up this evening, or we can bring them over tomorrow morning…?” Danny said. 

“Daniel, go get them now.” Mrs. Williams directed. “Don’t be an idiot. Go,” she shooed. 

“Better go, son,” Mr. Williams said, wriggling free from Danny’s possessive grasp. “Grandchildren, now.” 

“Okay, okay.” Danny dashed around to the trunk and began to haul out suitcases and carryons. 

Steve rushed over to help, taking the case off Danny and tucking a carryon under his arm. He beat Mr. Williams to the second suitcase, letting the older man take the smaller second carry on. 

“I could take…” Mr. Williams began, reaching for one of the cases. 

“He’s strong,” Danny said dismissively. He smacked a kiss against his Dad’s temple. “I’ll be back in about an hour. You’ll be all right, Babe?” he said to Steve. 

With that, Danny leaped back into his car and reversed out of the drive, trusting everyone to get out of his way, and leaving Steve with Danny’s parents. 

“Oh.” Steve smiled, putting all of his innate enthusiasm into that smile. He wanted… he needed… Danny’s parents to like him. “Let’s get you settled.” 

“You have a lovely home,” Mrs. Williams said as he conducted them up the stairs to the guest bedroom. 

“Thank you,” he winced inwardly at the rote phrases they were all relying on. “It was designed in the 1930s by Raymond Llewellen Morris. He was famous.”

Mr. Williams brushed his hand up the newel post, the pale wood worn smooth by many a passage of many hands. “It is your family home, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “My Mom and Dad’s. Uhm. My Dad was a sentinel -- is that okay? Danny’s never minded.” 

Mrs. Williams stopped on the small landing, and regarded her husband four steps behind them. 

“Son, chill,” Mr. Williams said easily. “You and Daniel permeate your home in thought and deed. It’s perfectly fine. Nice actually. Bit of a surprise, but, hey, I like Star Trek.” 

Steve didn’t follow that, but the guest room was just off the stairs, so he went for distraction. 

“There’s an en suite bathroom.” The door was open and the sunlit room was inviting. “I put thousand thread Egyptian cotton sheets on the bed. There’s a quilt in the wardrobe if you need it.” Steve backed away and gestured inside, letting them proceed. “I’ll let you settle. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

He bolted -- parents were hard. 

~*~

“Hellooooo?” Mr. Williams called from inside the house, the word rising up and down a sliding scale. 

“Sir!” Steve skidded barefooted into the dining room from the lanai where he had been zoning on the ocean. It sounded like Mr. Williams was in the kitchen. He zipped into the kitchen to find him peering out through the kitchen windows between the drapes. 

Turning, Mr. Williams lifted his hands up and then let them fritter downwards, fingers wafting. “Relax, son. And call me Benedict.” 

“Sir.” Steve said watching those hands make tracks in the air. 

“Rona lay down for a second to test the bed and fell asleep. She finds flying very, very tiring; it’s an assault on the senses. I thought that I would let her nap until Daniel comes back with the grandchildren.” He rubbed his hands together. “Any chance of a cup of coffee?” 

“Yes, sir.” Steve teleported across the kitchen to Danny’s insanely complicated pod machine. “How do you like it?” 

“Black, unless you’ve got some soy, with half a spoonful of sugar.” 

“Danny got soy.” Steve nodded. “I assumed that it was for Mrs. Williams.” 

“She says that it tastes like beans. I don’t get that myself.” He hauled himself up on the kitchen counter, letting his legs dangle. “So, my Daniel is a lot of things, but subtle he is not.” 

“Sir?” Steve froze, coffee pod poised over the gadget. He knew that he was acting like a space cadet, but these were Danny’s parents and he didn’t seem to be able help himself. 

“Daniel wears his heart on his sleeve and everyone knows what he’s thinking. Mom and I have spent many an afternoon, ears to the phone, listening to him tell us all about his day. The bad guys, the Palace, Chin, Kono, car chases, races across green parks, Max, and you yourself, son. Mom has threatened to come out on more than one occasion and give you a good telling off and perhaps a smack.”

“Sir. Mr. Williams. Benedict…” 

“Ahah, I’m talking.” Mr. Williams waved his finger. “So Danny tells us about Gracie, the island, Grace living in Cinderella’s ostentatious palace and maybe getting spoilt, his horrible hotel, the black mouldy hovel, coming to stay with you, moving into the Hilton, I think that there was another apartment, and then he came back to stay with you…” 

“That sounds about right.” Steve concurred, wondering where this was going. 

“Danny’s garrulous. Danny’s voluble. Danny’s charmingly bad at lying. He would try when he was yay high.” Benedict leaned right over and sketched a height of some two feet from the floor. “And then he learned how to bluster.” 

Steve thought about it. Danny was capable of misdirection, out and out avoidance, and hyperbole, but bald-faced lying just wasn’t something that he did. 

“So I’m a little surprised that he hadn’t told Mom and me that he had found his guide and he was for all intents and purposes married.” Benedict sat up and interlaced his fingers together on his crossed knees. “If it’s because you’re a boy, I’m going to be very annoyed with him. I taught him better than that. Uhm.” 

“Uhm?” Steve echoed finally realising that Mr. Williams was perturbed because Danny hadn’t told him that he had a boyfriend. Steve blushed bright red. 

“I don’t want any details.” Benedict suddenly flung his hands apart – fingers starfished. “I’m a bit set in my ways, being sixty three and all. But why didn’t he give us the good news? Now that sets my spidey sense tingling.”

Steve covered, dropping the pod in the machine. But this was the reason that he had a three thousand dollar charge on his credit card. 

“Danny’s just being careful. We’re both being careful.” Coffee jetted into Danny’s favourite mug -- he’d probably be tickled that his Dad was using his cup. Steve couldn’t look at the man. “Yeah, I’m a guide. But I’m also a Navy SEAL and in charge of the 5-0 task force. The Navy owns my ass and has its own needs for guides. And a guide SEAL? We’re taking it slow, demonstrating that guides aren’t….”

Steve trailed off, because this was Danny’s beloved guide Dad. 

“Cowering simpering little gnomes hiding behind their sentinels?” Mr. Williams supplied. 

“Sir!” Steve turned so fast towards the older man that he cricked his neck. 

“Sentinels don’t function well without guides,” Mr. Williams said slowly, watching closely as Steve flexed his neck from side to side. “And sentinels know this -- it makes them act a little stupidly. A true guide-sentinel relationship is a partnership. Mom and I have been partners since before Daniel was born.” 

Partners. Yes, he and Danny were partners. Steve nodded fervently, almost spilling the coffee. Mr. Williams watched it in his hand, a little hungrily. Steve got on with the important stuff, skirting around Mr. Williams to get the soymilk from the fridge. 

“Let it cool a little before adding the milk,” Mr. Williams directed, “or it will curdle.” 

Steve stood in the middle of the kitchen, carton in one hand, mug in the other. 

“There’s something else, sir.” 

Mr. Williams nodded encouragingly. 

“I don’t know how to be a guide, sir.” Steve looked on the side of the milk carton for answers. The nutrition label was startlingly unhelpful. “Guides are empathic, sensitive, and responsive to their sentinels’ needs. I’m not good at that.” 

Mr. Williams regarded him and Steve felt as if he was seven years old. He refused to shuffle from foot to foot and waited patiently for the senior guide to contribute his thoughts on the matter. Steve had just admitted to being a crap guide for his son. 

“Well, it’s not as if Daniel isn’t going to tell you what he needs,” Mr. Williams pointed out. “He’s good at sharing.” 

Steve heaved out a sigh, gusting it between his clenched teeth. Part of him wanted to laugh because that was so true. 

“But there’s something else, isn’t there, son?” Mr. Williams said perceptively. 

“I seem to have developed another form of empathy,” Steve said. “A more active form -- an offensive form.” 

“Oh?” Mr. Williams’ focus amped up one hundred percent. “Offensive empathy?”

“I can project emotions. I’ve defended myself by projecting pain and fear, and calmed people down when they’ve been,” Steve hunted for the right word, “overwrought. I haven’t done it a lot. It’s been instinctive. I don’t know how to control it. And it’s exhausting, like on my back sleeping for forty eight hours exhausting.” 

“Holy shit,” Mr. Williams said, just sounding like Danny, as he stared at Steve. 

“We’re here!” Danny called. 

Mr. Williams pushed off the countertop. He started to talk, but came to a hand flailing stop, eyes wide. 

“Hey, grandchildren here. Where are the besotted and doting grandparents?” Danny called. 

“We’ll figure this out.” Mr. Williams patted directly over Steve’s thudding heart. “We will, I promise. Right now’s not the time or place. But you’re going to have to learn how to meditate, kiddo.” 

“Dad?” Danny came into the kitchen, holding Grace’s hand and gently swinging George in a baby carrier. 

“Grandad!” Grace wiggled free of Danny and flung herself at her grandfather, who turned just in time to catch her. 

“Monkey Pie.” Crouching, he hugged her in tight, eyes closed. 

Danny caught Steve’s gaze, and fired off an incendiary question -- _what the Hell are you doing with my Dad?_ Danny’s protective focus over his Dad was kind of cute, but if they were going to figure out the guide stuff, he and Mr. Williams were going to be spending some quality time together. 

Grace was telling her grandfather all about her day, Hawaii, and Mr. Hoppy as they settled on a chair by the kitchen table. Adroitly, he appeared absorbed by his granddaughter’s words, giving her his time and interest, before approaching his new grandson. 

Said little sentinel was blinking sleepily, disturbed by the chattering, little hands flexing on the edge of his blue blanket, as Danny swung him gently. 

“Where’s Mom?” Danny asked as he set the carrier on the table and started to free George from his bonds. 

“Nap. I’m surprised you didn’t wake her,” Mr. Williams said, dropping a kiss on Grace’s head. “She must have dialled down tight. Leave her, she’ll be down in a bit.” 

Steve finally set down the coffee mug, added a glug of soy, and pushed it into Mr. Williams’ orbit. George was mewling unhappily as Danny bobbed from foot to foot. 

Grace sighed, aggrieved. “He does that a lot, even after Mr. Hoppy had to go away, Grandad.” 

“All babies do,” Mr. Williams said sagely. “Your Dad seemed to cry every night until he was two.” 

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” Danny said, as he handed George absently off to Steve. 

Steve juggled him, getting one hand under his diaper clad butt and the other supporting his head and shoulders. Baby looked at adult and adult looked at baby and the baby had the temerity to coo in something close to delight. Steve hooked a stool out from under the table with his foot and sat, still keeping George, somewhat, at arms length. 

He was so uncomplicated, Steve marvelled, just a little package of cause and effect. And, damn, George seemed to like him. 

_Just so you know, I’m not bonding with you, okay? You’ve got a Dad and a Mom. There’s a guide out there for you. I’ll help, maybe, if you really need it. And if anyone tries anything I’ll put them down hard. But that’s all. Okay?_

George was remarkably silent on the subject apart from smacking his gummy mouth. 

“I think he’s hungry,” Steve said. 

“Oh, okay.” Danny slipped a backpack off his wide shoulders and presented a half full bottle of milk. 

Steve eyed it, because perhaps Danny should be doing this? Danny waggled the bottle from side to side. 

“Hey, partner, hungry baby?” Danny stretched right over the table. 

In his hands, George tensed in the direction of the bottle, striving to move uncoordinated muscles towards food. He didn’t meep, he didn’t wail, trusting Steve to assuage his hunger. 

_Seriously?_

Steve manoeuvred the wiggling ball so he was cupped along the length of his forearm and accepted the bottle which Danny was still waggling. 

“I think he likes you, babe.” Danny observed as George’s eyes slid shut half-mast as he drew down his dinner, mouth working furiously. 

“Uhm,” Steve said, studiously non-committal.

The edge of distress emanating from the tiny form segued into content as his needs were met. A lot like Danny, Steve observed. George watched him heavy eyed, fingers wriggling with every draw on the bottle. He certainly put heart and soul into feeding.

“He’s lovely.”

SEAL training prevented Steve startling and dumping George on the floor. Mrs. Williams had crept right up into his personal space and was leaning over his shoulder to gaze at her grandson. 

Steve craned his neck, keeping the rest of his body motionless while cradling George. Huh, Mrs. Williams was an utter blank; he couldn’t get a read off her. It was completely startling, because he hadn’t realised that he got reads off people. And she was doing it deliberately, because when she had arrived she had been Danny Williams’ Mom, eagerly looking forward to seeing her grandchildren. How the Hell was she doing that?

“Babe? Why are you staring at my Mom like she’s an alien?” Danny asked. 

“What?” Steve shifted his focus to Danny. He was wreathed in column of almost blindingly bright, white light stretching from toe to several feet above his head, as if he had stepped into the beam of a searchlight.

“Babe?” Danny clicked his fingers loudly and the visual after burn bled away. 

Migraines weren’t his thing. His Mom had had them, but neither he nor Mary had experienced the regular, frankly, mind-melting migraines that his Mom had had to deal with. Steve glanced sideways, but suddenly Mrs. Williams was only Mrs. Williams -- happy to see her new grandson and itching to hold him. Danny was wreathed with concerns and Mr. Williams appeared to be engrossed in his granddaughter’s tale, but was a tightly coiled winding blur of deep thoughts tinged with disquiet. His bottom lip tingled and he pressed a fingertip into his temple. 

“Would you like to hold, George?” Steve asked, already handing the disgruntled baby over. 

~*~

“Do you have a white noise generator?” Mr. Williams’ question stopped Steve halfway through filling the dishwasher. 

Straightening, Steve pondered. “Garage, maybe. It will be old, though. It’ll be my Dad’s.”

Mr. Williams rubbed his chin. “You don’t use one?” 

Steve shrugged. “No. Dad did, I think.” White noise generators were used by the sentinel teams, but they were pretty much used in situ for mission briefs. The sphere of white noise was a siren call of nothingness to sentinel senses. Using them was tantamount to yelling _here we are_ on a mission. 

“Mission brief?” Steve said belatedly, glancing out the kitchen window. Danny kept a watching scan around them. He was absolutely sure that they weren’t under surveillance. 

“More like a chat, son. Let’s go out on the veranda. I like the sound of the waves.”

Steve snorted. “You’re the only Williams that does.” 

Mrs. Williams had wandered out onto the lanai a couple of times since they had arrived, but had abruptly returned. 

“They kind of have a problem with its immensity -- that’s the way that most sentinels I know think about oceans and seas. Basically, they don’t like the way it modifies their senses unless they’re brought up to it.” 

Okay, that was kind of interesting, and explained a lot. The last sentinel of Hawaii had been known as Kai, and had embodied the ocean. The thought of a solely terrestrial sentinel, like Danny, kind of messed a little with Steve’s head since they were missing out on more than half the world. 

“Chat.” Mr. Williams crooked his finger and headed outside. 

“Yes, sir.” Steve forced himself to leave the last few rinsed dishes on the draining board and not finish loading the dishwasher. “What about Mrs. Williams and Danny?”

Mrs. Williams and Danny had taken Grace and George back to Rachel’s. They had been pretty determined to go together without their respective guides. They were both adults, Steve figured, and thought that they could deal with the fall out together. He was glad that he wasn’t Rachel. 

Steve followed Mr. Williams out, across the grass and onto the beach. 

“So this is your favourite place, yes?” Mr. Williams sat down, crossed legged, right down on the sand facing the water. 

Steve kicked off his slippers and scrunched his toes, revelling in the rough warmth. “I’d prefer to be swimming.” 

“Hard to meditate when you’re swimming.” Mr. Williams patted the sand on his right hand side. 

Steve sat. 

“So, you’re a healthy guy, Steve. You know about diet and exercise. Do you meditate?” 

“I used to, when I was a teenager, then I kind of grew out of it.” 

“Grew out of it?”

Steve dropped back on his elbows and stretched his legs out. It was a deliberate act of relaxation. His Mom had meditated a lot, and after her death, Steve had tried to meditate when everything had been too much: people’s demands; people’s needs; Dad’s abandonment... Finding that blank empty space deep inside and outside himself had been helpful. Then he had learned the power of swimming and running. 

“Okay, I understand,” Mr. Williams said obliquely. 

It was really strange being with an empath. It was illuminating, Steve realised, knowing that Mr. Williams knew things without being told -- privacy was an elusive concept when your façade was transparent. 

“It’s emotions, son. Not telepathy.” Mr. Williams huffed. “And you’re projecting all over the place. You’re doing the equivalent of standing on the top of the house and yelling. I can’t not know what you’re feeling.” 

“How far?” Steve asked intently, sitting up straight. “Can sentinels sense me?” 

“Of course, you’ll be spotted... And if they have a guide, the guide will be gibbering _Oh, my god_ as they point at you.”

“You didn’t do that when you arrived,” Steve said astutely. 

“Son.” Mr. Williams shifted onto his knees and faced Steve directly. “I’m not stupid. You and Danny paid through the nose, ostensibly, for Rona and me to meet George. But really it was so that I could help you and Daniel. You’re a guide and you’re scared -- yes, you’re scared -- because you can do things that I didn’t know was possible. You were concerned when we arrived. You wanted us to like you. It was… cute and understandable.”

“Cute?” Steve said affronted. 

“Grace and George arrived and then you relaxed. George is a little fat ball of adorable and we had dinner, and you relaxed a little more, and you’re so happy that you have a _family_ it’s…. It makes me want to cry.”

Steve blinked furiously, because otherwise he might embarrass himself. And he hadn’t embarrassed himself since he was fifteen years old. 

A warm calloused hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him off kilter until his forehead rested against the warm space between Danny’s Dad’s collar bones.

Steve closed his eyes to hold back the tears as a dry kiss brushed the top of his head. 

“You need to learn how to control this, son.” The kiss was warm. “I have faith that you can.” 

~*~

“So in a perfect world you would have been identified as a guide and received training and been assigned to Daniel,” Mr. Williams perched on the edge of the leather sofa, a tumbler of Laphroaig held in his cupped hands.

“We don’t live in a perfect world, because I was born and brought up on Hawaii and Danny on the east coast of the mainland. We would have never met if I had been identified as a child, because I would have been shipped off to Guide Island and I would have been assigned to a sentinel years ago,” Steve said unnecessarily. 

Mr. Williams accepted that observation with a philosophical shrug. 

“What training?” Danny interjected from beside his Dad. “For real -- what guide training? I know what I learnt: the dials and mashing up senses so you don’t rely on one. The tutor recommended meditation, for which I have no real use.”

“The thing is,” Mr. Williams said introspectively, shrugging off Danny’s question. “Danny’s as different a sentinel as you are a guide.”

“What?” Danny sagging back into the confines of the sofa. “I’m just me.”

“Exactly. You’ve never had much use for the conventions. You’ve never zoned in my recollection. You are a five sense sentinel, but you’re evenly balanced, not off the charts, unusually you’ve always been very functional, even without a guide.”

“But… I want a guide.” Danny said tensely, unerringly turning to angle his body directly towards Steve on the armchair lounger. 

“How can Danny be functional without a guide? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?” Steve asked, shifting slightly in Danny’s direction. 

“Okay, this is opinion, a product of conversations in the bar with my friends. Sentinel and guides form partnerships. The partners sometimes have kids. One kid in eight might be a sentinel or guide. Daniel’s Mom is a sentinel and I’m a guide. Your Dad, Steve, was a sentinel and your Mom a guide. If a sentinel has a baby with a mundane,” Mr. Williams flushed at the insult, “--the babies will be sentinels or mundanes. Same for guides. Partners who can’t have babies together and want to generally look for other sentinels or guides for help. So both of you have sentinels and guides in your family tree. The Williams family have been throwing out sentinel and guides since before records began.”

“So you’re saying that Danny can guide himself?” Steve hazarded. 

“No,” Mr. Williams said with the frustrated mien of someone who didn’t have all the answers and was struggling to figure out something very complicated with only part of the information. “I’m saying that I don’t think that the division of sentinel and guides is so cut and dried. I don’t know why sometimes a baby grows up to be a sentinel or a guide. Daniel has coping mechanisms -- mainly using his own emotions, usually by being ranty -- to keep himself on an even keel. Sentinels generally get bent out of shape by denying their abilities. Daniel doesn’t deny his abilities; he just gets on with it.”

“Sentinel Central has not published any information on sentinel and guide genetics,” Steve mused. “I always wanted to be a sentinel like my Dad. I was so angry when I figured out I was a guide.”

“Hang on.” Danny leaned forwards tapped and his fingernail, rat-a-tat against the low coffee table. “So you’re saying, Dad, I’ve got guide in me?”

“Of course, you do.” Mr. Williams looked like he was about to lean over and bat his son across the back of his head. “Maybe you developed your sentinel abilities because you’re the oldest boy of a large family, to help you better look after your sisters and protect your brother when Mom and I were at work.”

“This is all very interesting, Dad.” The red flush on Danny’s face made his eyes startling blue. “But how do we help super guide, who is, by the way, useless.” 

“Hey!”

“Well, I guess, you have to ‘sentinel’ him,” Mr. Williams said using the word as an adjective. 

“What?” Danny demanded. 

“A guide guides a sentinel. So maybe a sentinel can sentinel a guide.”

“You’ve got to come up with another word, Dad.” 

“I’ll let you do that, son.” Mr. Williams patted his cheek. 

“Enough with the talking.” Mrs. Williams came stomping down the wooden staircase encased in a fluffy house robe and her hair wrapped up in a towel. “Talk. Talk. Talk. That’s all you’ve done since arriving here. It’s back of eleven o’clock and barely dawn at home. It’s time for bed. Tomorrow morning, Hawaiian morning, Steven, you will swim--”

“Mom,” Danny started to protest, because what would happen if Steve did that weird coma thing in the water again.

“Daniel,” Mrs. William cut him off. “You can’t stop Steven from swimming. It would destroy his soul. You will swim, Steven, and then Dad will walk you through a guided meditation and start training you. Right, all of you, decant those whiskies back into the bottle. You should know better than to drink alcohol when senses, sentinel and guide, are out of kilter. Now, bed, the lot of you!” She turned on her heel and stalked back up stairs. 

Much chastised, they poured their expensive whiskies back into the bottle, and obediently crept off to bed. 

~*~

Steve appeared to be actually very good at meditating. It was counter intuitive, Danny thought, but Steve had slipped into lotus position and his metabolism had immediately slowed. Both his heart rate and respiration dropped, but also -- Danny licked his lips -- the sense of electricity that constantly thrummed over his skin. A singing that Danny could pick up from twenty feet away. 

Danny knew nothing about meditation. It was just something that this Dad did daily: morning, noon, and night. 

The two guides sat on the gritty, rough sand facing the water, backs to him. Danny leaned against a veranda post and ignored the breeze gusting off the ocean, the scent of hibiscus on the air and the first brush of sun caressing his skin. 

“They’re not going anywhere, Daniel,” Mom said. “Come inside and have your breakfast.” 

“Mom,” Danny whined as he obeyed. 

“You do realise that you’re up shit creek without a paddle,” Mom said as she led him to the kitchen through the dining room. 

“Yeah,” Danny sighed. “But we’ll just have to swim through the shit. Sorry, Mom,” he added, even though she had said ‘shit’ first. “I can’t let them take Steve away from me. We’ll run. We’ll go to Free States of Scandinavia and now I’ll take George and Grace with us.” 

“Have you put an escape plan in place?” Mom asked, as she snagged a couple of slices of toast that popped up from the toaster and sat at the kitchen table. 

“We’re working on it. Steve’s got contacts. When Steve appeared to be ‘just’ a guide we always knew that could just grab our stuff and go. Steve’s always had an escape bag with foreign currency and passports. Honestly, I don’t think that he could sleep at nights if he didn’t have it to hand. But there was always Grace. And now there’s George -- we definitely can’t run with a baby. We need a route, and network in place. But that’s the last resort, Mom. This is our home. We had a plan. We’d show that we were an established sentinel and guide pairing, and get registered. Incidentally, demonstrate that we’re partners, none of this second class guide shit. Lead by example, you know.”

“But he’s projecting emotions all over the place and Sentinel Central will be _very interested_ ,” Mom said euphemistically. 

“I know. I know. I know.” Danny scrabbled his hands through his hair as he paced around the table. “Sentinel Arles came all the way to Hawaii from Europe to check out Mrs. Malone. Oh, did I tell you about that?”

“No.” Mom glared at him, flat and angry, at what was obviously a critically important omission. 

Danny sat down and dutifully told his Mom all about the Island of the Guides, Mrs. Malone’s psychotic control over the inhabitants, Sentinel Arles travelling a million miles and his inordinate interest in Mrs. Malone’s projective empathic abilities. 

“You know,” Mom said introspectively. “I’ve met a few sentinels who have talked about spirit guides.”

“Spirit guides?” Danny checked, because that sounded like horse pucky. “Like Native Americans spirits and séances?” Rachel had subjected him to Victorian Sherlock Holmes-type murder mysteries and they had often featured shysters pretending to talk to dead relatives with the help of spirit guides when really they had been fleecing vulnerable heroines of their inheritances. There were some things that he really didn’t miss since the divorce. 

“No,” Mom said succinctly and very flatly. “More like if we have five heightened senses maybe a sixth sense can be heightened.”

“Yeah, but touch, taste… they’re real, not fairy tales.” He cocked an ear to check Mom’s blood pressure in case she was having an aneurysm, because this sideline was hardly relevant to their conversation about escaping ahead of Sentinel Central.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Your partner is an empath. I think that we can conclusively state that extra sensory perceptions exist.” 

“But that’s guide stuff. God.” Danny downed a mouthful of coffee.

“There was a sentinel and guide pair. James Joseph Ellison and Blair Jacob Sandburg. Sandburg was an anthropologist studying sentinels. Dad downloaded his papers off the internet before they were taken down. Ellison had a heightened sixth sense.”

“And?” Danny asked, because he didn’t have any sixth sense. Okay, he wasn’t going to mention the ghost at the apartment complex where he had scammed a reduced rent. 

Mom’s eyes narrowed, she stared at his chest, and his deceitful, rapid heartbeat.

“Ellison and Sandburg left Cascade in Washington State. And Sandburg never posted anything online again.” 

“Did Central take them?” Danny asked. 

“No idea. They fell off the radar. But it’s not just your guide that they might be interested in.” 

“Shit.” 

“You talked to the Little People when you were a toddler; you played with them.”

“What?” Danny demanded. 

“I said that it was an active imagination. Dad said that they were real, or real to your perception and….” She drummed her fingers against the tabletop and glared at Danny. “And if the were real to you; they were real. I forget what Dad actually said. It was guide stuff. Then your baby sister arrived and you had a real baby to look after and your sentinel gifts rose to the forefront.”

“I had imaginary friends when I was a baby,” Danny said incredulously, “and you’re bringing this up now?”

Mom batted his ear with her cupped hand. 

“Ow!” Danny bounced his stool out of her reach with a heavy clump. 

“I’m worried about you. About you both! My father, your grandfather, always said that a true partnership was of equals. If Steve is your true partner, your destined guide--” 

“He is my guide!” Danny rocketed to his feet. 

“Sit down!” Mom snapped, Danny obeyed instantly, hunching on the stool. 

“Damn the Second World War, the Secrecy Act, and forced conscription of sentinels,” she growled. 

“We defeated the Axis Powers,” Danny said, rote. Sentinels, and both his grandfathers amongst them, had been proud to serve. Shit, he really had to sit and think about the reality of his existence instead of accepting that some things just were. Dad was a history buff; he had talked about sentinels and guides during the Second World War. Danny had loved the stories of adventures, the idea of sentinels and guides working together. The old black-and-white movies on TCM were still a lot of fun on a rainy Sunday afternoon and oozing, blatant propaganda that was laughable in twentieth-first century America. 

“And were no longer free agents,” Mom said. “But we were valued and valuable, and Sentinel Central was born out of the ashes of the Second World War. The rate of attrition on sentinels was astronomical during the War.” 

“And we lost oral family history when eighty percent of the sentinel population died in Europe, Russia and Japan,” Dad said from the doorway. “And the guides, of course, but the histories don’t mention the guides.” 

Steve was wide eyed behind Dad. “That’s why?” 

“As a brief précis,” Dad said, heading unerringly towards the siren call of the coffee maker, “of how Sentinel Central came into being, and needs to control.” 

“Hey, babe, how did the meditation go?” Danny asked -- because Steve felt a lot more like Steve, contained and focussed, and he couldn’t not comment on it. It made him want to climb him like a tree, despite Mom and Dad being in the room. 

“He’s really good at it,” Dad said between sips of his coffee. “He forgot to tell me that he’s a practitioner of Iyengar and Ashtanga Yoga as well as being psychotically dedicated to swimming and running. I figure exercise and meditation will help keep him on an even keel.” 

“Isn’t that only part of the answer?” Danny blurted. Steve flushed under everyone’s stares. “I mean, it’s fluffy and Zen-ny and it’s not real.”

“It’s as real as it gets, son,” Dad said. “There’s no remote control.”

“And the projective side of the empath equation?” Steve said clinically, as he stood at parade rest. 

“I have an idea about that,” Dad began, but was interrupted by the dancing vibration of Danny’s Blackberry chiming across the kitchen table. 

Danny focussed in at the screen from across the table. “It’s Chin.” He shot a glance at Steve as he snatched it up before Steve could pounce. “You’re still on sick leave, okay? Hi, Chin.” 

“Hi Danny. How’s Steve?”

“We got a case?” Steve barked. 

“No, I was just calling to see if the BBQ was still on?” Chin said. “Malia’s on call tomorrow, one of her colleagues has called in sick. It’s probably the same sort of bug Steve got.” 

Danny checked his family. Dad nodded and Mom agreed with a shrug. Staring at Steve, he realised that he couldn’t keep him locked up incommunicado, and that Chin and Malia, and Kono were Ohana. 

“Come around at six. BBQ on the lanai,” Danny said addressing everyone.

“Can we bring anything?” Chin asked. 

“Just yourselves. I’ll text Kono and Max.” Danny finished the call. “So, party,” he said to his family. 

“Do they know Steve’s a guide?” Mom asked perceptively. 

“Max does.” Steve said. “Neither Chin or Kono are idiots; they’ll have figured it out. But Chin will have told Kono to play it low key until we bring it up.” 

“Well, it’s going to be an interesting party after the grandchildren go home.” Dad rubbed his hands together. “Can I have the keys to your car, son?” 

“Why?” Danny asked. “Where are you going? I need the car. I have to pick up George and Grace, and go to Wholefoods. I can take you where you need to go.” 

“You can borrow my truck, Mr. Williams,” Steve said politely. 

“Son, I’ve told you to call me Benedict.” 

“Yes, sir.” Steve nodded obediently. 

“Hey. Hey.” Danny clicked his fingers and thumbs together simultaneously. “No. No. Dad where do you want to go? I can take you.” 

“Sounds like you have a list of chores to get through, son,” Dad said. “You don’t have time to drive me around. I will borrow your truck, Steven, thank you.” 

“I’ll go get the keys.” Steve bounded off. 

“What?” Danny demanded as his Dad smiled at him. Mom was already pouring coffee into two travel mugs, getting ready for a road trip. 

Having this family was like trying to corral lightning. One moment they were discussing the history of sentinels during World War Two and the next planning a BBQ. 

Danny threw his hands in the air and stalked off to god knows where. 

~*~

“What is that?” Steve asked, knowing very well what a puppy was, but was unable to understand why Mr. Williams had brought a black and white, big pawed puppy out onto the lanai. 

“It’s a border collie puppy because I don’t agree with keeping monkeys as pets and cats are a lot of things, but empathic they are not.”

“And dogs are?” Steve asked as he pulled the lid of the BBQ down a fraction, so the just-lit coals would warm better. My God, Williams are so weird, he thought. 

“Domesticated dogs that naturally fit into a complex social structure are -- especially those with a large brain case with respect to body size. The wolf-like dogs really. A Jack Russell would be neither use nor ornament.” 

“Hang on.” Steve lifted a finger. “You’re saying dogs are empathic and I should be able to practice on it? Or with it?”

“Yes.” Mr. Williams dumped the puppy into Steve’s arms much like Danny had a tendency to do with George as soon as he saw Steve.

“I can’t look after a puppy, sir,” Steve said, stroking a hand over her silky head. “What about when I’m at work?”

“Get her training. Make her useful. You’re the boss -- she can go to work with you. Border Collies are the most intelligent dogs in the whole history of dogs; she’ll be an asset.” 

“I’ve got Danny to smell stuff.” 

“I’ll tell him you said that.” Danny’s Dad showed a hitherto hidden evil streak with a flash of his teeth. ”You need her. You’re not going to practise on George or Danny. The puppy is your next best thing.” 

“I can’t practice on a puppy! It’s inhumane.” 

But what was the alternative? He lifted her up to eye level to look into amber flecked eyes, and a long pink tongue licked him in a wet strip from chin to nose. 

Okay, it was definitely not love at first sight, but maybe second sight. 

~*~

“What’s her name, Uncle Steve?” Grace asked, besotted. She cradled the puppy like a baby as she beamed up at him.

Steve scratched the back of his head. “Her pedigree name is Velvet Chancellor Navarre. I was figuring I would just go with Vel.” 

“Velvet? Cool.” She skipped off, back to her grandmother who was sunning herself on a lounger. Mrs. Williams had pulled up it onto the grass so that her feet wouldn’t touch any gritty, horrible sand. 

“Pity she doesn’t like George as much,” Danny said introspectively at his elbow. 

“I guess it will come with time, maybe.” Steve shrugged. When he was four, he would have preferred a puppy instead of Mary. And when he was twenty four.

“I can’t believe that Dad got us a puppy.” Danny lowered his voice. “It just another thing to consider if we have to run.”

Steve shrugged phlegmatically. A puppy wasn’t any more complicated than a baby sentinel in his opinion. 

“Hello?” They heard Malia call as she preceded her husband around the side of the house. Chin came behind her carrying a large bowl of Hawaiian salad. 

“Hi guys.” Chin nodded. 

“Chin said that you were ill.” Malia arrowed straight over to Steve, concern writ all over her face. She pushed a bottle of cava and a four pack of pale ale into Danny’s hands as she moved right into Steve’s, admittedly, large personal space zone. 

Steve let it happen. “I’m okay, Malia, honest. Danny’s just overreacting.” 

She peered up at him, fine brow crinkling. “You look tired.” 

Steve shrugged. “I must be feeling better or we wouldn’t be having a BBQ.” 

Malia pursed her lips and raised one brow, Spock-like, but evidently let it go. Steve had a sudden insight that between them, Chin and Malia, they missed nothing. 

“Allow me to introduce my Mom and Dad,” Danny interjected, dragging the couple onto the beach by the force of his personality. 

Danny’s Mom was already swinging her legs off the lounger and rooting around for her sandals. His Dad waved hello from the BBQ. 

Steve let the introductions wash over him as he snagged a longneck from the cooler under the shade of trailing _koali awa_ , Morning Glory, growing over the wooden veranda. He contemplated the bottle, wondering if beer and empathy worked, since apparently whisky and empathy didn’t. Eyes weighed heavy on him, and looking up, he found Danny’s Dad regarding him across the length of the lanai. He shook his head. 

Philosophically, Steve dropped the beer back in the cooler and headed into the house to get a honey green tea SoBe from the fridge. 

~*~

The children had been waved off in Rachel’s BMW, the mosquito candles lit, and a bonfire started on the beach just at the edge of the grass leading up to the house. Kono had dug out some Southern Comfort from the back of Jack McGarrett’s drinks cabinet and had made Gatsby cocktails without the maraschino cherries because, one, Jack didn’t have any maraschino cherries and, two, they were steeped in the types of preservatives that sentinels avoided like the plague. 

“Oooh, this is very nice,” Max said, peering into the tumbler after his first sip. 

“Told you,” Kono curled up beside him, tucking her toes under his thigh. “Best cocktail in the world.” 

“Guys.” Chin came out of the garage, around the side of the house, hauling an old metallic grey box under one arm and a greasy car battery in the other. 

“What is that?” Danny stared at it like it was a snake. The smell of acidic corrosion already bothered him, as Chin weaved between the spindly palms shading the garden. 

“It's my Dad’s old white noise generator,” Steve said. 

“Why?” Danny asked.

“Because it’s time,” Chin said soberly. He set the white noise generator firmly on the sand and wired up the old car battery. “And I figure that it might help you break the ice if we can talk without anyone overhearing.”

“You’ve been dancing around you two being sentinel and guide for a long, long time,” Kono said faux conversationally. 

“Oh, thank you.” Max let out a relieved sigh. “It’s been so hard keeping it a secret. Not that I can’t keep secrets. I’m very, very, very good at being professional. But Chin and Kono, and Malia are… should…hmmm… know. And apparently knew.” 

Chin settled beside his wife, snuggling together on a beach blanket. Checking the group was ready, he flicked a switch on the top of white noise generator

“Mother of--” Danny said clearly, scrambling across the sand on hands and knees to smack it off with the flat of his hand. 

Danny’s Mom stood frozen on the veranda ramp, a shattered wine glass on the stained wooden planks at her feet. 

“Rona!” Danny’s Dad was beside his wife before anyone else could move. 

“Oh, that was strange.” She blinked furiously. “I think that that white noise generator is past its sell-by date. It’s badly out of phase.” 

“Sorry,” Chin said, appalled. “Jack used it all the time.” 

“You okay?” Steve cupped Danny’s shoulders and drew him up from his unmoving crouch over the device. Under the soothing warmth of Steve’s hands, Danny shook off the sensory impact that had shocked him. 

He loved having a guide. 

Danny poked his finger in his ear and waggled it. “That was horrendous. How did your Dad cope with that?” 

“He just had two heightened senses, touch and smell. He probably didn’t even know,” Steve explained. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, babe.” He rested his head for a heartbeat against Steve’s shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I zoned.” 

“Why did your Dad have a torture device?” Kono asked. 

“As I said, I figure that he didn’t know it was out of order.” Steve snatched it up, out of Danny’s reach. 

Danny guessed that his next port of call was the garbage can outside the front of the property. 

Chin also read Steve’s intent. “Leave it in the garage; I’ll have a look at it.”

Grunting, Steve hauled it off to the garage. 

“Sorry about that,” Chin apologised to both sentinels, as he helped Malia pick up the broken pieces of glass. 

“You didn’t know,” Danny said, keeping an eye on his Mom.

She waved her hand, instructing him to let it go. Hand in hand with Dad, they tiptoed over the lounger and sat down entwined. Malia appeared to be a hairsbreadth from abandoning Chin and coming over to check her pulse.

Danny leaned over and Kono obediently passed him her Gatsby, so he could take a draught. It was a little too sweet for his tastes. Steve rapidly slid back onto the lanai, obviously concerned that he had missed anything. He hadn’t.

“Oh, I’ll go get a dust pan,” he said, on spotting Chin and Malia, and disappeared into the house. 

“Where does he get his energy from?” Mom asked, aggrieved. She shook her head and leaned against Dad, pillowing her head against his neck. 

Dad waved off Malia. 

Danny kind of liked Steve’s energy, although he would never tell him that. 

“So we don’t have a white noise generator,” Max observed. “Is that a problem?”

Danny cocked an ear, listening, aware that his Mom was also primed to listen. He scanned the immediate area, mapping the family around him. He knew them all, from squirrelly Max to placid Chin. The next sphere of interest was the boundary of their home. Nothing unusual moved in the vicinity. Beyond the street was quiet. There was a family across the road enjoying their own BBQ. The next sphere took him outside the street and towards the bounds of where he could conceivably differentiate between different sounds. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Steve plonked down next to him on their beach blanket. 

Danny inhaled deeply, taking in Steve’s clean ocean scent as he rubbed a warm hand between Danny’s shoulder blades. 

“Checking.” Danny closed his eyes, and began to separate the sounds into their individual components. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, but he understood the importance of ascertaining they were safe. Finally, he figured that there was nothing suspect within his range, and, pragmatically, that was all that he could do. 

“Clear,” Mom said, and settled back into Dad’s arms. 

Danny nodded and pressed against Steve’s large hand. 

“So you are sentinel and guide.” Chin returned to the beach blanket with his wife. “We have been respecting your privacy, but there is something else going on. We can’t help you if you don’t trust us.” 

“We do trust you, Chin,” Steve said immediately, his hand stilling on Danny’s back. “But it was about plausible deniability. If asked, you could always say that me and Danny are maybe sentinel and guide, but maybe not.”

“It’s kind of obvious, brah,” Kono said. “Especially after you came back from ‘Aina. Ask anyone, you’re so married. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out.” 

“Ah, but --” Max broke in. “It is not unusual for a sentinel to cause a person to express guide abilities and vice versa when in close proximity. So Commander McGarrett could continue to lead the task force, and demonstrate that a guide could lead a task force. They will be subject to assessment when Sentinel Central realises that Detective Williams has found his guide.”

“And that’s bad, right?” Kono asked. 

“Yes,” Danny said. He leaned further back into Steve, half for comfort and half for apology. “Because Steve’s a little bit more intense than the average guide.” 

Kono snorted into her cocktail. 

“What do you mean exactly?” Malia asked. 

“I’m also capable of projecting emotions offensively,” Steve said. 

“Oooh.” Max perked up. “That is interesting. How does that work?” 

“There’s the problem,” Danny said. “We’re not entirely sure. He kind of just does it. And has no control. And then sleeps like the dead for days. Bit like a puppy really -- he’s not housetrained.” 

“Geez, Danny,” Steve huffed under his breath. 

“The incident report projections that you were looking at. Something happened?” Chin asked, looking at them both across the flames of the bonfire. 

“Something happened,” Danny said when Steve seemed reluctant to speak.

“Something?” Chin probed, needing, wanting more information

“Sentinel Central has displayed considerable interest in guides who have this type of ability,” Steve said, typically circumspect. 

“So you’re afraid that Sentinel Central will come and take you away?” Max summarised.

The entire group stared at him. But, Danny wondered, why? -- because the medical examiner had adroitly summed up what they were really, truly concerned about. 

“I appreciate your concerns,” Max said. “Sentinel Central certainly does have a long arm and a heavy handed control over the sentinel population, and by default the guides. But the geographical position of the State of Hawaii works in your favour, as does the population size of known, registered sentinels. Statistically, it is unlikely that you’ll meet another sentinel and guide pair, especially if you work to avoid them.”

“Huh,” Danny said, considering. A benefit of living and working in Hawaii -- who knew? 

“Because a low profile and Steve and Danny works so well,” Kono said sarcastically. 

“True, but that does work in their favour.” Chin stood up and walked around the fire, the flickering flames setting him in golden tones and rich shadows. “They’re not your typical sentinel and guide -- by any stretch of the imagination. Especially Steve. The issue is this offensive use of empathy because you can’t control it? So, you learn how to control it and continue to fly under the radar.” 

“Easier said than done,” Danny said pithily. 

“And that’s really why Benedict and Rona came to visit?” Chin confirmed. 

“We’re working on helping Steve,” Dad spoke up, “it’s not something that I’m familiar with, though.” 

“Chin?” Danny asked, because he knew the contemplative expression that was gracing his fellow detective’s face. 

“Sentinel Central is not the sole authority of sentinel and guides,” Chin said surprisingly. “It’s the _one_ that’s out there. It is the foremost authority; it’s the one that is funded by the pan North American-European-African government, is on the news, reported in papers, and ‘Sentinel Central’ is the most popular television programme on CBS. If you google ‘sentinel’ you end up on sentinelcentral.com.”

“Where else then? Japanese institutes?” Steve asked. “Asia?” 

“Closer to home,” Chin said. “There have been sentinel and guides throughout Polynesia for millennia. Most identified sentinels are shipped off to the academy on the Mainland. But not all families want their children to be brought up in a boarding school even if it is by government order backed up by security coming out and taking them. There’s one, maybe two, sentinels born in a generation, easy to hide.”

“There’s another sentinel in Hawaii?” Danny asked. 

“Not that I’m aware. Not since Kai,” Chin said, destroying his hope. “But the traditions exist. We can talk to the kahuna lapa’au. Maybe we can get some help.”

“Sentinel. Sentinel. Sentinel. It’s always about the sentinels. I’m not a sentinel,” Steve pointed out, scrambling onto his knees. “This is a guide thing. An unprecedented guide thing.” 

“Steven,” Dad said quellingly. 

Steve dropped back onto his butt, crossed his legs and set his hands on his knees. Danny didn’t need to be a sentinel to hear the deliberate exhale that sounded more like a growl. 

Chin glanced between Dad and Steve. Danny guessed that he was trying to get a read on the undercurrents around him (Danny wished him luck) before continuing. “The word for guide in Hawaiian is ‘uhane. That means soul. In the Hawaiian tradition, the sentinel and guide are a partnership, body and soul. You don’t have one without another. The kahuna lap’au might be able to help us.” 

“So,” Mom spoke imperiously, “can you talk to these kahuna lapa’au, Chin Ho Kelly? Find out if they know about this aspect of sentinels and guides, and if they can train Steven?”

“To protect the new sentinel and guide of Hawai’i--” Kono rose to her feet, and paced barefooted to her cousin’s side, “-- we will talk to the kahuna lap’au on your behalf.”

~*~

“Geez, what a day,” Danny said to the ceiling as they lay on their bed watching the fan spin idly. “What do you think of Chin’s idea?” 

“I think that he’s right. It’s ignorant to think that there are not other traditions. There are words in the Hawaiian language and in pidgin for sentinels and guides. It stands to reason that we might be able to find someone who knows something that might be able to help us.” Steve stretched out fully and folded his hands behind his head on the pillow. “Chin thinks that the last sentinel was Kai. But maybe there is a sentinel or guide pair on one of the Islands? You would sense them, right?” 

“I haven’t,” Danny said with a shrug. “The way that I understand it works, they’d have to be a threat in some way to really trigger my senses. Arles made my skin crawl. But back in Jersey, I knew another sentinel and guide pair up in Massachusetts, and I didn’t feel anything from them other than companionship. I got on with them -- they were part of the ‘family.’ If there’s one thing that Sentinel Central does right, its train and monitor sentinels. There was one kid at the academy who was twisted in a creepy, creepy, psychotic way, and he was taken out of our class. Never saw him again.” 

“The irony is killing me,” Steve said. “You know what you’ve just said, don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Danny admitted. “That kid was wrong, though. He needed to be locked up.” 

They fell silent, considering, until Danny said, “It’s a little late for philosophy, Babe.” 

“True,” Steve said around a yawn. 

“I can’t believe that Dad bought you a puppy,” Danny said, unable to shut off his brain and sleep. “What if I had been allergic?”

“I asked that. He said that no Williams in living memory have been allergic to a working dog.”

“You realise that she’s crying in the kitchen?” Danny said. “I can hear her.”

“Yes,” Steve said sullenly, and Danny knew that that was because she was upset and lonely and missing the comfort of her litter mates. Vel was now Steve’s dog, heart and soul. “I gave her a hot water bottle wrapped in one of my t-shirts. The only other option is to bring her up here, but, one, she’s not house trained and, two, that sets a precedent and I’m not having sex with you with a puppy in the room.”

“Shush.” Danny put his finger to his lips and glanced in the direction of his parents’ room, through walls of plasterboard and across the hall. 

Steve lifted his head off his pillow. “Your Mom and Dad will go home, but the puppy will still be here.” 

“You’ve got performance issues?” Danny leered. 

Steve rolled over and pinned him to the mattresses with a heavy arm and thigh. “You’re the one who called for a hiatus while your parents are here,” he whispered furiously, rocking his hips. 

“Good night, boys!” Mom carolled from the guest bedroom. 

Electrified, Steve launched himself off Danny to flail precariously on the edge of the bed. Danny flung an arm out, stopping him crashing to the floor. Shell shocked, Steve stared at Danny and Danny felt the hot flush of a beetroot red blush stain his own face. 

There was a squeak of laughter as evidently Dad tackled Mom. 

Steve looked at Danny and Danny looked at Steve. 

“We’ve got to get a white noise generator,” they said simultaneously. 

~*~

Fin...


End file.
